by Pj Belanger
“Lio, get over to point E, I’ve lost contact with Oreilly,” came into her left ear.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll head right over.” Although hot and sweaty, the soldier answered him quickly; Captain Allen had little patience, obedience first with him. As long as he stayed competent and smart, she’d put up with him, no bucking his authority, no questioning his orders. Her mouth half smirked, Lio Omomo was not a typical Federation soldier. Not like the blindly obedient schnook that uncritically submitted to every order.
“God damn Oreilly probably accidently shut his cell collar off again.” Allen’s annoyance dripped in his rough coarse voice.
“Yes, Sir, on my way.” She shouldered her rifle but kept her Howler revolver in her hand and her charged and unlocked laser stick on her belt. It was supposed to be an easy assignment today - just round up the natives and transport them out of the area. Still, taking chances were not in her repertoire, ever! She’d seen too much. She’d only been with this newly formed battalion for a month. Despite the easy assignments, Captain Allen had them on high alert. Nevertheless, the raw recruits took too many chances. It catches up with you, she thought.
Lt. Lio Omomo jogged lightly to where Private Oreilly was supposed to be. Her head twisted around. Where the hell was he? He wasn’t her favorite soldier but he wasn’t the worse either. Cocky and not too bright came to mind. Taking her long knife in her left hand, she advanced further into the thicker part of the forest. The village wasn’t that far off, it wouldn’t be a good idea to alert the natives of their presence until Captain Allen gave the okay.
Then Lio saw him. The fully battle-geared soldier was lying under one of the big banyan trees. The blood pool that lay under his body triggered her instinct to fall to the ground. She crawled in the low bushes, going forward slowly, letting the soldiering senses dictate her actions. The air had no smell of humans or animals close by, although the wind was blowing away from her. Lio’s gaze looked to the sky, no action from the little she could glimpse of the gray overcast cover. Lowering the high powered binocular glasses on her helmet, she looked around. No shooters in the trees or in the nearby bushes.
Slowly Omomo rose to a crouch. No sign of any activity. She bit by bit approached his body, keeping the cocked rifle in a ready position. She did a three-sixty. Nothing. The lieutenant straddled over Oreilly’s body taking one last scan. Then she felt his neck. Dead. Two arrows stuck out of his chest.
Immediately she took cover. Touching her collar, pressing it once, Captain Allen came on, “Lio?”
“Oreilly is dead, two arrows deep in his chest. We have someone who has armor piercing capability fighting us.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, “What the hell!” rang loudly in her ear. Suddenly an alarm went off on her cell collar. The Captain was sending out an alert, “Everyone take cover, natives shooting with armor piercing ammo. Take cover, repeat take cover. Head back to point A immediately! Do not approach the natives, if needed, shoot to kill. Mission cancelled!”
Lio reached into her sleeve pocket, taking out a small round disk the size of her thumb. She pressed the center. Seeing a yellow light flash, she ran over to Oreilly’s body sticking it on his arm - at the same time pulling out one of the arrows. She dove back into the thick bush cover crawling back to the larger brush, retracing her footsteps to the original position.
Taking a long breath, she tapped the cellbutton on her collar. “Omomo?” came in her ear. It wasn’t Allen, but Sergeant Mulle.
“I put a discovery button on Oreilly. I have the arrow, heading back.” Then she tapped her cell off before he could question her. She was in no mood to talk to Mulle. He was like his name; stubborn and obstinate. She paid no attention to the buzzing in her ear but picked up to a fast pace heading back to the original encampment.
It wasn’t long before she came upon Private Larson. The lieutenant heard him long before the soldier came into view. The Private was huffing and puffing as he jogged toward point A, the rendezvous point. Lio came up behind him and lightly touched his shoulder. He turned wide eyed, fear permeating off him. She could smell his sweat. This soldier was a large walking target.
When he saw it was her, he stopped, bending over gasping for breath. “Christ, Captain, you scared me to death.”
“It’s not Captain anymore,” she reminded him. Larson had been at Camp Junte where he’d been under her command before she gave up her commission and requested to be transferred to Camp Bolk. To her surprise, Larson had also been transferred to Bolk. “You’re out of shape Private. Gonna get yourself killed,” she admonished him.
“Sorry, Lieutenant.” He was still having trouble catching his breath. They stood on a hardened soil wide path. Lio quickly scanned the area. No sign of activity, no smells of humans, only smells of small rodents. Still she didn’t let her guard down. Grabbing the Private’s arm, she hauled him off to the cover of the surrounding forest.
“Gonna get yourself killed.” She again told him, “didn’t you get the Captain’s alert?”
Larson looked over at the arrow sticking out of her shoulder harness. “Is that…”
“Yeah, Oreilly is dead,” she told him before he could finish. “Now stay low, we’ll head back to the encampment but keep alert, like I taught you!” Captain Lio Omomo had spent a lot of time getting her command in shape, Larson had been no exception. The private had let himself go since his time at Camp Bolk.
“Yes, Ma’am, sorry Ma’am,” the private stuttered in his off planet drawl. If Lio remembered right he was from Altise. Why anyone would want to leave such a beautiful planet to enlist in the Federation Army to be sent to this hell hole was beyond imagination. But then Larson was young, perhaps just out of secondary school. He’d learn or die. He’d latched onto her. Remembering her own rookie stint, she’d taken him under her wing but now he wasn’t under her any more.
They jogged, keeping the path to their right. No sign of any natives. They were skirting the village, so she was on high alert. Lio was going easy, Larson was still breathing heavily. The shack came up on their left. It was a well-kept hut, thatched roof, mud sides with a smoking shed in the back that looked like it was in use.
“Careful,” she whispered, crouching and forcing Larson down also. “Keep going parallel to the path. I want to take a quick look.”
She melted into the woods as Larson kept running but at least he had crouched down. She didn’t see any villagers, no one seemed around. The smell of the wild boar that must have been cooking in the smokehouse was heavenly. It made her mouth water. Omomo had not eaten since yesterday. She crouched behind a bush watching. Nothing unusual. The chickens were making noise in the henhouse. The one scrawny cow was hitched to a post.
A slight noise made her duck and turn. An arrow stuck in the tree, just where her head would have been. She reached into her boot, grabbing her throwing knife and whipped it at the human target. The knife got him right in the arm that was drawing back for another arrow. He yelped dropping down to his knee.
The tall underweight man didn’t have a chance to get up as Lio kicked him in the head. He went down, out cold. His nose was bleeding all over his chest. After checking to see if there were any other shooters, the lieutenant dragged him to his feet. His eyes opened and she slapped him hard. The native had only a loin cloth on; his upper body was naked except for some ribbons attached to his upper arm. He dropped both his arrow carrier and bow.
“Hica snutta? Tulla sincie?” Lio asked him his name and why was he shooting at her in his own language. His eyes went wide. The man’s nose and arm wound were bleeding all over her. She let him go but pointed her gun at his chest. Feral fear radiated from him, sweat appeared on his brow.
“TA TA,” he yelled at her, “Ta sonis.” Her head translated, BAD BAD, KILLERS.”
“We aren’t killers,” she told the angry native in his language. “We are here to help you!”
A look of hate was all the lieutenant got, the man wouldn’t say another word. Lio motioned with
her rifle for him to follow her to the front of the house. Picking up his bow and arrow, she followed. Her orders were explicit - take him to the encampment to see what information could be garnished. Her soldiering told her to obey, but her humanity for the native’s plight wanted to let the man go. Sergeant Mulle would keep the prisoner forever, probably torture him. The native would miss the relocation and have trouble finding his family. It’s not like they kept good records of where they placed each tribe.
To her surprise as they rounded the front of the house, Larson was there pointing his rifle at something. Lio hurried around to the front. A small woman was coming out of the house. In her hand was a radiant grenade, a huge one. Larson just stood there. The private seemed frozen. Lio immediately fired at the woman. The explosion flung the Lieutenant back. Lio’s body hit a large banyan tree hard. It dazed her for a moment but she quickly managed to get up, grabbing her rifle, looking for any more villagers. Her prisoner, the half-naked man, was wrapped around a small tree. He looked dead.
Her first concern was Larson. He’d been flung almost to the road but his body hadn’t hit anything. The private lay dazed. Lio hauled him up. “What the hell,” her voice sounded muffled, as her hearing wasn’t fully operational. Larson
